Would You Like Fries With That?
by ShadowSilverWolves
Summary: <html><head></head>America without a burger makes for a strange situation between a few countries that only Canada can comprehend. Oneshot. (Summary does NOT suck.)</html>


**I do not own Hetalia.**

00000

Canada knew. Canada always knew. But know one ever paid attention to Canada. In fact, he would bet a stack of pancakes with extra maple syrup and a good slathering of freshly churned butter that no one in the room was going to ask why he was the only one without a look on his face that clearly displayed an enormous amount of pure shock and confusion. Because no one in the room had noticed him, since their eyes were glued to the two people that had broken everyone's ideas of social behavior, no matter how low they may be for some people. Perhaps it was not so much to be labeled as inappropriate or lewd, but more like 'common sense dictates that this action towards this specific person is prohibited'.

To put the situation in a nutshell, Russia and America were in the midst of an act that was so ridiculous, it had the jaws of every nation in the room dropping, but was not so intimate that the eyes of the younger countries needed to be covered, and only Canada understood it all. That was the joy of being invisible; you knew everything about everyone and no one held any suspicions toward you when you offered seemingly confidential information.

But this entire circumstance had nothing to do with the national security of a country or the secrets that lay behind someone's closed doors. Everything that had just happened could be easily explained...

...if you were Canada.

It all started with America's diet, and heaven knows how many strange problems had come up whenever _that_ came into the story. England was once again forcing, or at least attempting to force, America to eat less than he was, for fear of him becoming far too obese to even move, much less eat any more. America, not wanting to be humiliated by being the country with a fat hero, decided that he would try his very best to actually go with what England had planned.

That had happened a few weeks ago. Last month, at the previous World Meeting, Russia and America had gotten into a scuffle, which is a word that here means, they had a knock-down, drag-out fight that nearly killed both of them and had made it necessary for them to wear enough bandages to turn the Statue of Liberty into a mummy. Canada, of course, would never give America that idea for fear he may follow through with it come Halloween.

Since the–ahem–disagreement, had been brought to an abrupt halt by England and China, it was never fully determined who had won. The two nations, though separated and forced to sit on opposite ends of the room, had held a facial conversation, trying to decide who should be declared the winner.

Canada had been the only one to see this conversation, since it could not possibly have been heard by anyone else in the room. He was also the only one to notice that their fight had not been started by insults or vulgar name-calling, it had started simply because Russia and America wanted to clash with someone who they did not have to hold back on. Past choices, wars, or previous allies were not being considered whatsoever. The fight was just what it appeared to be: a challenge to see if they could last as long as they had the previous battle.

Well, since neither of them could decide who won, they determined to hold another fight when the next World Meeting came up. Skip two weeks, and we have England forcing America into a diet. Skip two more weeks, and the present day is at hand.

And America was depressed.

His lack of greasy, fattening foods was causing a considerable drop in his usually cheerful disposition. He was sitting in his chair, face down on the table, arms in his lap. Everything about the man clearly broadcasted his rather discouraged state. His bomber jacket looked like it had not been washed in weeks, his glasses, when they had been visible to the world before he collapsed onto the table, were smudged and rough, and even that strand of hair that usually stood so proudly was limp and lying on the table, as unmotivated as the blonde nation felt.

It was hard to see him acting the opposite of his usual self, but everyone knew it was because of the diet he had been on. France actually congratulated him when he walked in the room on lasting as long as he did. Two weeks was a miracle when it came to how long you could keep the American away from a burger.

When Russia had entered through the large double doors to take his seat at the round table, he had immediately picked up on the devastated aura surrounding his rival. Canada was watching the tall man carefully, having noticed the thoughtful look that came into those dark violet eyes. Gears were turning inside the Russian's head as he came to the same conclusion that Canada had: an underfed America was no match for a full powered Russian. If America did not put his heart into the fight that they had planned, Russia would not be able to savor his win.

But the Russian shrugged, as if to say it was America's loss and not his, took a seat at the table, and proceeded to scare everyone in the room out of their mind with his presence alone. Canada glanced from the crestfallen America to the apathetic Russia, wondering how it would all come together.

When a break in the meeting came, Canada cast a glance toward Russia's chair and was not at all surprised to find that nothing but a vacant space at the table met his gaze. From his seat beside America, Canada gave his brother a pat on the shoulder. The gesture did not so much as raise a reaction out of the burger-deprived sufferer, but he had expected as much. Adjusting his glasses, he leaned down and whispered directly into the man's ear,

"Endure it for a little while longer, bro. You can do it."

Only a sigh was given to him in response, but is was enough for him as he sat back, clutching his beloved polar bear to him and waiting for the meeting to resume.

"Everything will work out," he told himself with a satisfied smile.

"Who are you?" the bear asked.

"Canada."

Not twenty minutes had passed by when Germany decided to start the meeting back up again, in hopes of actually getting somewhere. His eyes rested on Russia's empty chair and he opened his mouth to question the whereabouts of the ash blonde man. But he did not need to, for just as he did, the doors burst open to reveal the smiling nation standing there, one hand clutching his scarf and the other gripping a paper bag with a familiar-looking yellow 'M' design on the side. Canada's smug smile went unnoticed by the group of nations.

Without batting an eye at the awkward silence that settled, Russia took three large steps which placed him directly beside America. The independent nation did not move for a moment, at first not noticing the presence of another being, but his nose knew what it was detecting. The paper bag was placed on the table and tipped over to reveal a large, greasy cheeseburger and a package of crispy, golden french fries. The aroma made its way up America's nostrils and alerted all of his other senses, sending his mood sky high into ecstasy. His head snapped up and he laid eyes on the food he had gone so long without, admiring it like it was worth a million dollars.

His blue eyes, having once more received their spark of life, gazed up into the face of the one who had saved him from a repeat of the Great Depression, figuratively speaking, of course. When he saw that it was Russia who had replenished his cheerful mood, he let out a loud, and very girlish, squeal of thanks to the scarfed man. Without another thought, he jumped from his seat and wrapped his arms around Russia's neck, the momentum of this sudden movement spinning the taller nation in a circle. Russia in turn embraced the elated American, smiling that closed-eye smile of his that could mean so many things, but at this moment was representing satisfaction for his deed done and mission accomplished.

This is where we find everyone standing when we began, shock so relevant on their faces a blind man could have seen it as every nation in the room stared at the two sworn rivals who were standing in each others embrace, revealing an understanding between them that no one in the room could comprehend in a million years, even if they wanted to.

No one, that is, except Canada.

Oh, how he loved his lot in life!

The moment passed and America began scarfing down the much desired meal, a grin as wide as the Mississippi River plastered on his face the whole time, while he ignored England fussing at him that he was ruining his diet. Russia returned to his seat and sent a fierce smile across the room. America looked up from his own heaven on earth and blue met purple, causing a stream of invisible lightening to strike out across the room. As America's energy levels rose, so did Russia's desire to fight. They were sending each other another message through expressions only.

It was on.

Canada giggled to himself. Those two were so funny at times, and so serious at others.

_God help us if those two ever get on the same page._

00000

**Author's Note**

**Yep, another 'Russia and America are respected rivals' thing by me, Shadow. If you can't tell, I really like writing about that! But, hey, at least its not as angsty as the last one! If you like it, you're fabulous! If you don't, I'll tell England that you want him to cook for you.**

**I'm kidding, you are entitled to your own opinion. If it sucks, that's your problem. And for all of you people wondering where Silver's next chapter is, you'll have to wait. She got sick last week and is curled up in bed watching Lord of the Rings. So, I'll let you know when she is better! Hang in there, fans!**

**Read and review or I'll sic Romano on you.**

**Smiling increases your beauty by eighty percent! So go for it!**

**See ya, folks,**

**-Shadow.**


End file.
